Looking for Castiel in Night Vale
by nani'anela
Summary: "Commuters. If you see a 1967 Chevy Impala on the roads, please. Do not shoot at it, throw grenades and/or any other explosives at it. I assure you that this is not the same, driverless vehicle from earlier this year, cursing several people into singing "Eye of the Tiger" and doing jumping jacks for hours straight before fainting. You are safe. Relatively." Welcome to Night Vale.
1. Chapter 1

Hi guys! I started listening to Welcome to Night Vale recently and fell in love. And I needed to write a crossover fic like yesterday. Will include Episodes 1-28 of WTNV and probably up to Season 9 in SPN.

Picture is not mine, but belongs to 4amhauntings on tumblr.

So, here goes! I hope you like it in all its weirdness. :)

* * *

**_Everyone loves the feeling of someone playing with their hair. _**

**_Unless you're alone in your house at night with the doors and windows locked. _**

**_Welcome to Night Vale._**

...

The Night Vale YMCA announced its One Year Anniversary today, and will be celebrating with free balloons and a pancake breakfast that will be running from eight A.M. to eleven A.M.

This is the very same YMCA that was never built close to twenty years ago, due to the fact that no one was willing to drive thirty miles to go to a YMCA in the middle of the desert wastelands.

However, I'm sure if you showed up, you would be so dehydrated from the scorching desert heat that you would be able to vividly hallucinate yourself holding a beautiful red balloon and eating a massive pile of chocolate-chip pancakes before passing out from sun exposure and being a tasty meal to circling overhead vultures.

Congratulations local YMCA! We are looking forward to another family-fun-filled year with you in Night Vale.

This just in.

A mysterious, bow-legged man and his apparent "_younger brother" (I myself am already dubious of the pair, seeing that this quote "younger brother" end quote is a good head taller than this mysterious bow-legged man)_ have rolled into town today in a black, 1967 Chevrolet Impala, claiming that they were here to "see what was going on" in this "strange town".

Well.

_Obviously_ these people have not heard that Night Vale already has its very own top-notch scientist _Carlos_ who is already "seeing what is going on" in this "strange town".

The group apparently parked by Big Rico's Pizza, and the Mysterious Bow-Legged Man was quite unsettled by the fact that Big Rico's did not have burgers or even any item on the menu with wheat or wheat by-products.

He was also even more unsettled by the fact that, once inside, Big Rico's did not appear to have any windows...or a door.

The "younger brother" allegedly ordered a salad, laughing and shaming the Mysterious Bow-Legged Man for his junk food dependency.

However, this "younger brother" also became unsettled when he spotted Night Vale's signature bleeding mushrooms inside his salad, the "salad" really just being the single piece of limp lettuce and tomato slice taken from the middle of a hamburger as seen on the gourmet cooking show "Spongebob Squarepants". This salád was surrounded by at least a hundred bleeding portobello mushrooms served in the usual titanium vat.

The pair both left Big Rico's without another word by using the brick the waiter supplied to bust out of a window that had suddenly appeared. The Mysterious Bow-Legged man said something about "literally the weirdest thing he had ever experienced" before going back to his car and driving away.

More on this story as it develops.

...

_Old Woman Josie _called in earlier this morning to report that the angels living in her house were getting upset by these newcomers, the ones I mentioned earlier before in this broadcast, an update on Mysterious Bow-Legged Man, and "_younger brother._"

" _I don't know why they came here if they are just going to break the hearts of my dearest angels_." Old Woman Josie told the station earlier this morning, nearly in tears. " _My youngest angel, Erika, has been pining after Dean for years now and I don't want him to tear his little heart out again and again."_

Apparently, Erika (that is in fact what every angel goes by, as I've started before), encountered the Mysterious Bow-Legged man (who also goes by Dean, but let's face it, have you ever heard a more boring name, amiright listeners?) some time ago.

The angel, Erika, that is, helped MBLM change a flat back in oh-nine when he was passing through the area, and has had the hots for him since.

Some of the town gosspiers even say that the brothers came into this town to convince this angel, Erika, that is, to join them on the road.

How ridiculous is _that_?! How can they convince _something that doesn't exist _to join them on the road? Travellers these days just keep getting dumber and dumber, don't they? _Honestly_.

Wait just one minute, listeners. I've just been slid a note by our Intern Garth. (_Thank you, Garth.) _

_Wow. _

_Oh, **WOW**. _

I just can't believe he would have the nerve.

Ladies and gentlemen, _**Steve Carlsberg**_ reportedly called my intern's desk and told him that not every angel goes by the title "Erika" and that, instead, have all kinds of names.

He says that the angel these brothers (who are not indeed named Mysterious Bow-Legged Man and "_younger brother_" but "Sam and Dean Winchester") are looking for is a seraph named Castiel who came into town a few weeks ago to seek refuse at Josie's after healing Sam of mental scars from when Sam dragged himself into the deepest pits of hell, opened by the collective rings of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, after being posessed by Lucifer for close to a month.

_Would you get a load of this guy. _Saying that angels have names other than Erika.

Who does Steve Carlsberg think he is. I most definitely will be filing a report for re-education for this particular citizen. _Angels have names. Pfft. _

Now, an annoucement from the Night Vale traffic department.

Commuters.

If you see a 1967 Chevrolet Impala on the roads, _please_. Do not shoot at it, throw grenades and/or any other explosives at it, or form a pitchfork and torch weilding mob around it.

The sheriff's secret police assure you that this is not the same, driverless vehicle that rolled across town around two years ago, cursing several people into singing "Eye of the Tiger" and doing jumping jacks for hours straight before fainting from exhaustion.

_**I repeat**_. This is not the same vehicle. You are safe. Relatively. But _are_ you?

Yes. _Relatively_.

The brothers were reported to have 'swaggered' up to Old Woman Josie's angel sanctuary earlier this morning, knocking on the door and insisting that some man named "Castiel" 'come out and have a chat'.

Mysterious Bow-Legged Man and "_younger brother"_ waited for close to five minutes, but no 'Castiel' was produced. The brothers were also distracted by our lovely citizen and possible runner-up for mayor Hiram McDaniels, who was out for a Sunday drive.

Apparently, his five dragon heads greatly disturbed them. Quite unfortunate that even in 2013 we still have incidents of creaturism like this today.

On a side note, Mayor Pamela Winchell would like to remind you that tommorow is national Night Valians Against Creaturism Day, where we celebrate our diverse population of around two hundred human beings, seven hooded figures, one faceless old woman and one five-headed dragon. Come join the festivies! Five citizens will be chosen for Hiram's annual feeding. What an honor!

And now, for the weather.

...

This just in. _Old Woman Josie_ called the station to tell us that there was an imposter living in her home.

The "angel" is not really an _angel angel_ but an "angel angel", which of course there is a very large difference. This "angel angel" is really named Castiel, and has in fact been stowing away at Old Woman Josie's for the past couple of days.

Old Woman Josie claims she noticed something might be odd because this "Castiel" was in fact _not_ ten feet tall, did not have thousands of eyes, did not have a bright black halo, did not have wings or was not wearing the traditional heavenly robes, and instead was wearing a tan trechcoat and blue tie.

He is not to be confused with the Man in the Tan Jacket. A Jacket is much shorter than a trenchcoat, listeners. Remember this. It may save your life one day.

_Anyway_, Castiel willingly left with Tall-Man-with-Lady-Hair and Mysterious Sharp-Jawbone-Man shortly after he was discovered as being an imposter.

"_He kept asking me what the lights above the Arby's were and why Night Vale's bumblebees are close to ten times the size of 'regular' bees."_ Old Woman Josie told our Night Vale Community radio just moments ago.

_"I told him I do not have those answers, that as an angel he should know them in the first place." _(Old Woman Josie sounded angry at this point..) _"I can't believe I fell for that old 'I'm really an angel' garbage." _

The three of them left this morning, tearing down the road at approximately 75.9 miles per hours and blasting "Highway to Hell' on the old muscle car's speaker system. At least Ken-Doll-Man and Plaid-Donning-Jolly-Green-Giant were able to retrieve their friend and no longer plague our city with their ignorant creaturism and blatant disrespect for Night Vale cuisine.

In Other News, a gigantic snail can be seen slowly moving across the intersection on Avenida Bizarro and Pi Street, he is approximately one-hundred and fiffy feet tall with a shell that seems to be a 'mirror into the universe', featuring the Milky Way galaxy as well as the Orion Belt.

The Galaxy Snail has apparently moved since this morning, and has started consuming trees bordering the Whispering Forest, leaving behind a slimy bright pink trail that is quickiy corroding everything in its path including the neighborhood stray dog Mr. Barksly, and has melted the ground into a trench at least thirty feet deep and growing. Commuters must divert to the other side of town.

But I'm sure it's _nothing_ to worry about.

We may never see Mysterious Bow-Legged Man, "_younger brother"_ or Castiel the "angel angel" again. But that's just part of life, isn't it? The pure uncertainty of everything. We might never see the three of them again. Or, we might attened MBLM and Castiel's wedding. We may never know where the winds of fate will blow us.

And with the notion of Life's uncertainty fresh in your mind, I leave you this quote.

Life is like a feather on summer breeze. Invisible and probably _not real _for all intensive purposes unless you want to tango with the sheriff's secret police.

_Goodnight, Night Vale. _

_Goodnight_.


	2. Chapter 2

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.

But I've got miles to go before I sleep.

And as I pass, hungry trees weep.

It's been too long since they've had the satisfaction of curling their roots around an unsuspecting, sleeping human body, consuming their warm flesh to leave only a bleached white skeleton tangled within the curling wood, a bony hand ever reaching for redemption...

And miles to go before I sleep.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Stars. The ancients believed that birds pecked holes to heaven. We now know, through science, that they are gigantic, flaming spheres of burning gases such as helium and hydrogen, which were set ablaze from the breaths of ancient space dragons.

If you're keen on astronomy, please go check out the new gem of our town, the Galaxy Snail! Having slowly advanced from Pi Street to the Whispering Forest, families by the dozen have been flocking to observe our town's very own Galactic Gastropod!

We must request you take no pictures with flash.

Strange white lights have temporarily flashed in the sky simultaneously, the only thing we have ever seen brighten the dark null of the void. We figure this Milky Way Mollusk might actually.._be_...our universe.

And there is already a hairline crack in its starry shell.

Our days are numbered.

How much longer?

How much longer before the delicate fabric of our universe shatters into nothingness?

Before we _become_ nothingness, nothing but a dark void ourselves?

In other news, the snail _loves_ being tickled! His left eyestalk seems to be especially ticklish! Watch him blush, giggle, and turn a lovely shade of pink.

Fun for the whole family!

This just in. Intern Charlie has just slid me a slip of paper, and on it I see a detailed sketch of Princess Leia making out with that actress from "Tomb Raider". I do not see what this has to do with the news, exactly, but I suppose I must report whatever is given-

Oh.

What's that, Charlie?

She is now blushing profusely and indicating with desperate hand motions for me to flip it over. Yes, Charlie, I will flip it over.

No harm done here, the only ones to see this are you and me. Even though I _have_ just broadcast a detailed description of the artwork to our listeners.

Sorry about that.

Now I see written words. "Those guys from a few weeks ago are back." Just one second as I clean my glasses, listeners, I'm not sure if I'm reading this next part right.

Let's see here. "They heard your broadcast. They did not-" the 'not' is underlined several times- "appreciate the nicknames you gave them or that you told much of their personal lives to numerous people. They said they want to 'find you and make you pay.' "

This is not good news, listeners. I make enough income in this job to pay for rent and necessities, but I have been saving up for a vacation to the Palm Oasis with Carlos for some time now, and I'm hoping this payment that Ken-Doll-Man and Tall-Man-With-Lady-Hair are asking for isn't _too _pricey_..._

More on this, as it develops.

Now, a word from our sponsors.

Colgate.

White.

Teeth.

Whiter than the bleached color of bones in the desert.

Whiter than freshly fallen snow over a battle ground.

Show

me

your teeth

bare them like

the animal

you are

primordial being

snarling hairless ape

white teeth snapping

chipping

breaking

a bloody mouth

toothless

red, not white

zombie

the undead

.

.

.

.

.

.

TEETH.

.

.

.

.

.

WHITE.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

FOREVER.

Colgate! Number One recommended by dentists.

In related news, our annual Festival For Oral Health will be in one week in the town square. Mr. Oral cannot be happier that the whole town is so concerned about his recent case of pneumonia.

Listeners.

There are three people who have currently entered the booth with a strange sound, like a mix between the whump of a rug being shaken out and a rush of wind. The Mysterious Bow-Legged Man is now striding towards me with quite a threatening expression on his face and he is attempting to take the mi-

"To all the freaks 'n geeks that listen to this _stupid_ channel, I don't have a 'thing' for Cas, _got it_? We ain't gettin' married any goddamn time soon, so get your heads out of your asses and get on with your lives! I ain't about any of this 'Destiel' bullshit that seems to be all that anybody's talking about these days, I'll come to every single one of you sorry sons a' bitches homes and hunt you down if I hear that word ever again, dammit! I'll punch you so hard you'll be shittin' teeth for a week!"

"...Wow, Dean. Anything these you want to add, Mr. "Of course I'll be professional"?"

"Shuddup, Sammy. AND MY LEGS AIN'T EVEN THAT BOWED, GOD DAMMIT. IT'S THE DAMN JEANS I WEAR."

"I can assure you that fabric does not have the ability to optically deceive to that degree, Dean."

"CasIswearToGod-"

"Dean?! What the hell did you do to the guy? You...dammit, you broke his glasses! C'mon, you've said what you had to say, now let's get out of here."

"Dean, please don't take the name of my Father in vain by swearing on him."

"Fine! Last thing! I'm not gay! NOT. GAY. Kiss my ass, Night Vale!"

...

...

...

_wssshhhhh_

...

...

...

...

...

...

...

mmmmmmmm

...

...

...

...

augw

...

...unph

...

Hewo, Listenbers. I seeb to have possibly bromken by nobe, as dere is a great flub of blub in my nostrilbs currently.

By glasses also appear to habe brokem.

If he is currentbly listenbling, sweet Carlos please bring be by glasses repair kit. I canbt read the news withobt my glasses.

So.

Now ba weathber.

...

Hello, Listeners! My sweet, sweet Carlos has, much like a superhero to the rescue, brought me various medical supplies and now my nose is clean as a whistle! He'd make a very great doctor if he wasn't already a superb off-the-charts amazing and awe-inspiring incredible scientist!

I was not trying to make you blush. I was simply stating the facts. This is a station for the _news_, remember? You can be so forgetful sometimes. That's why you have me.

Oh, I'll take those. Thank you.

Carlos has just handed me my glasses, repaired with simple tape but the professionals couldn't have done a better job, if I say so myself.

No, I am not being sarcastic! I suppose you are a man of science, that is why you get confused. No worries, Carlos! None at all!

The strangers who so brutally attacked my poor listener's ears with voices that are in no way smooth or sonorous have been reported to be making a B-line for Dessert Bluffs, muttering about opposites and how Little Boy Joseph been housing countless nasty demons for a while now.

Oh, well! Desert Bluffs can deal with these people who not only disrespect Night Vale cuisine but also interrupt our most treasured radio station! The nerve of MBLM and Jolly Green! Not to mention that imposter of an angel!

Carlos now is indicating to my list of announcements that I was supposed to get to today, but unfortunately, my time has almost run out for the news programme today. I suppose I could get as much as I can done before our two minutes is up, so...

Mr. Harris, who owns the local frozen yogurt shop, Frostyland, has reported than one of the machines, the one on the leftmost side, has started to turn itself on and began spurting a blackish, tar-like substance instead of the delicious Mango Tango it is usually meant to-

No, Carlos, I didn't think I look very sexy with a bloody lip and bruised bridge of my nose. I'm only a radio show host, dear, not some kind of _solider_!

So, as Mr. Harris inspected the tub above the machine that usually holds the liquid form of Mango Tango, he was surprised to find only an empty, void of black-

Carlos, now is not the time for- _mpfm_!

...

-kissing.

Well, seeing as I only have thirty seconds of airtime-

_(mwa)_

I suppose I can say-

(_mmhaha stop it!_)

Goodnight, Night Vale!

Goodnight!

* * *

Dean turned down the radio with a flick of his wrist, he knew he should be frowning but he wasn't. Maybe he had overreacted by punching that man in the face that hard. But he had to defend his honor, his manliness, you know? But he felt kind of bad after he'd seen how sweet the man's boyfriend had been to come tend to him. And that song the station had played wasn't half bad.

"I enjoyed the song as well, Dean." Cas spoke up in his usual emotionless manner, looking out the window as the dark desert sands and the occasional dry bush rolled by, Sam's gigantic body stretched out as he slumbered soundly in the back.

"Dammit, Cas, stay out of my head!" Dean frowned, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, staring out at the empty road ahead as they traveled to the next town to deal with that creepy little kid and his collection of demons.

"I apologize." The angel answered, his voice steady and not phased by Dean's acid tone. "I do not want to make you uncomfortable. It's just something angels do subconsciously. I can't help it."

Dean puffed out a breath of air, and tried to find something on the radio but all that was coming up was static now.

"You were lying when you stole the microphone from that man with the white hair and the purple glasses. Because you were scared." Cas graveled, turning his head from the window to look at Dean, the shadow his nose cast was sharp and his eyes all squinty, but his blue eyes looked even more inhuman in the clean light of the desert moon.

Dean paused. He cleared his throat. His finger tapped nervously along the black leather of his steering wheel. He knew he couldn't lie to Castiel. "...Yeah." He coughed.

Dean leaned to the side and he and Cas met in the middle, giving each other a short smooch.

"We still don't tell Sam." Dean cleared his throat and kept looking out at the dark desert road. "Not yet."

"Okay." The angel replied gruffly.

Somehow, their hands found each other in the dark and held on as the car rumbled down the stretch of slightly sandy road.

It was a good night.


End file.
